changes the channel to Hollywood Squares. I guess she doesn’t like that I guessed the answer.
“That John Denver is a handsome man.”
It’s John Davidson, but who cares? She laughs at a joke Paul Lynde makes about a mini pig, and I wonder if she really gets it or is just laughing along. She is so engrossed in the game show and her popcorn that I wonder if she knows I’m with her, braiding her hair like I used to.
I lean to one side and smooth her hair with my hand. My neck pinches, and I slowly move my chin to my shoulder. “Crap. Ouch.”
“Don’t curse.”
I guess she knows I’m here. “Sorry,” I apologize, even though crap isn’t a curse word. Not like shit, anyway. “My shoulder hurts.”
“Call the foxy doctor,” she says without taking her eyes from the television. “He’ll give you something.”
“Simon? He’s a house doctor.”
She licks a sprinkling of powdered cheese from her lips. “He comes to the house.”
“He restores houses for a living.”
“Yep, that’s right. Not many doctors come to the house these days.”
“ ‘Squeezed and pulled and hurt my neck.’ ” I mutter a quote from Rain Man.
“Call the foxy doctor.”
“He’s performing an emergency appendectomy.”
“I always wanted to marry a doctor,” she says as she flips through channels before settling on an old episode of Family Feud. “That Peter sure is handsome.”
I glance at the television as Richard Dawson asks the Brown family, “Name something you blow.”
“A job interview,” I say, before I forget that I’m not supposed to answer.
Mom glances over her shoulder and gives me the stink eye. “Periwinkle,” she yells, and returns her stinky eyes to the television.
“A red light,” the contestant answers.
“Periwinkle.”
By the time I slide the elastic from my wrist and finish Mom’s hair, she’s yelled “Periwinkle” six more times, and I want to stab my brain.
“Periwinkle.” That’s seven, and I can’t take any more. My head hurts, my shoulder aches, and I feel the f-word bubbling up inside me. I don’t want to lose it. I recognize the warning signs, and I don’t want to do anything that might provoke Rattlesnake Patty into baring her fangs. I kiss her cheek good night.
“Periwinkle!”
My eye twitches and I’m hurrying to the doorway when I remember, “Lindsey has the day off tomorrow, and I think she’s shopping for clothes afterward.” At least, I assume she meant clothes shopping when she said she was going to the mall.
“Why?” Mom asks without taking her gaze from Family Feud.
Clothes shopping is something we all need to do—at least, Lindsey and I do. Mom wears velour and doesn’t seem affected. “It’s her day off.”
“She’s fat.”
“Mom!” I thought she’d said that the other night because she was out of her mind and raging. “That’s not nice.” I frown at her, but she isn’t paying attention to me. “Don’t say that to Lindsey.” I see how the girl pulls at her tops, and I suddenly feel protective of her. “She’s a nice girl, and I don’t want you to hurt her feelings.”
“She should have said ‘periwinkle.’ ”
When she doesn’t respond, I ask over the sound of buzzers, “Mom, are you listening to me?”
She tears her attention from the television, and her gaze is a little more vacant than it was ten minutes ago. “That Richard is a foxy man.” Before I completely lose my mind, I leave her to gush over the game show host. Cheesy theme music follows me down the hall and up the stairs. Thankfully, I can’t hear it by the time I stop in the doorway of Lindsey’s yellow-and-white bedroom. She is kneeling beside the sleigh bed, tucking in her clean sheets, and I avert my eye from her plumber’s cleavage. Tomorrow will be our first day without Lindsey since we arrived at Sutton Hall. Mom and I’ll be just fine on our own, but I’m nervous that something will set her off and Lindsey won’t be here to defuse Mom’s anger. “When are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Ten thirty.”
I’ll have to be extra patient to avoid Rattlesnake Patty. “If you’re near a store that sells insect spray, can you buy a few gallons?”
“Sure.” She laughs, but I’m serious. “I’ll protect you from bugs.”
I’d rather have toxic spray, but I return the favor. “And I’ll protect you from Raphael.”
“Deal.” She walks toward me, and we shake hands. “I hate that evil bird.”
“You’re getting the raw end of the deal. There is only one evil bird but a million evil bugs.”
“I’d rather encounter a million bugs.” She drops my hand and